Diamond Skies
by SophieRoss
Summary: After the final battle in DH, Harry returns to Hogwarts to sort through Dumbledore's inheritance. In an odd journey, he has to face past decisions, losses, and failings - friends and foes reputed to be dead will be the least of his worries. No pairings.
1. Prologue

**Diamond Skies**

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**Prologue**

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"What are you going to do now, Potter?"

Myriads of dust particles were dancing through the air of Dumbledore's former office, disturbed by house elves and wizards alike who had passed through in the last days.

Harry was kneeling on a big carpet in the middle of the room, stacks of parchments in all sizes spread around him. He peeled his gaze from the documents he had been sorting through. Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of him, levitating a pile of books with her wand. Harry looked down again. '12 Uses of Dragon's Blood' read the paper on top of the stack, 'by Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel'. He twirled a corner between his fingers, hesitant to answer.

"I always wanted to become an Auror," he answered finally. Then, after a short moment, "but sometimes I think I've battled enough dark wizards for a lifetime."

"You have," said McGonagall. Harry did not answer, so she continued, "I clearly remember our career options conversation two years ago. You were so anxious to score the 'Outstanding' required for Severus' NEWT class…" she trailed off.

An awkward pause stretched between them. Sunrays made visible by the dancing dust were caressing the furniture, the piles of books and all the strange objects Dumbledore had assembled in the room over the course of his life.

"He didn't change anything," Harry said, breaking the silence. "He was headmaster for a whole year, and he didn't change anything."

With a flick of her wand, McGonagall directed the books she had been levitating out of the office and down the staircase.

"He never felt like he belonged here," she reasoned.

"Do you?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't," his former head of house admitted hesitantly. Then, with more resolve she added, "But maybe I will once we have sorted through Albus' belongings, so get going, Potter!" She turned on her heel and hurried down the stairs, leaving Harry to his parchments.

The former headmaster had left him many of his 'Defence against the Dark Arts' texts and several curious magical objects in his will, which had been found a few weeks after the final battle. Harry had come to collect them. However, that did not include any alchemy research notes, so he set the '12 Uses of Dragon's Blood' aside. McGonagall would take them. She and Dumbledore's brother Aberforth were the other two inheriting parties.

'Two weeks left until term starts again,' Harry thought. Soon Hogwarts would be brimming with life and the students' chatter filling the halls. During the summer, Hogwarts' silence was stifling, almost eerie. Harry shuffled a few papers, and somehow felt irreverent for interrupting the quiet.

While Hermione had opted to return to Hogwarts to finish her Seventh Year, Ron and Harry would not return to take their NEWTs. All three of them had been offered a spot in Auror raining, but Hermione had declined, saying she wanted to 'obtain a proper school leaving certificate'. All her efforts to convince Ron and Harry to do the same had been in vain. Ron had jumped at the chance to become an Auror, but Harry had not followed him. The contract was still in the pocket of his robe, weighing him down despite being written on thin parchment. All that was required of Harry was to sign it; his name would be magically transferred onto the corresponding copy in the Ministry.

He had put off the decision, unsure if the job was really for him. But he knew with certainty that the Hogwarts chapter of his life was over; Hermione would have to do her Seventh Year without him.

That was not the only reason, though. On his previous trip through the halls, he had almost been able to see the bursts of light as curses and hexes had streaked by; to hear the wrenching screams of student and Death Eater alike; to smell the acrid mix of burned flesh, bile, and blood that had filled his lungs...

'_No!_' Harry thought, pulling himself together. He would not benefit from reliving the final battle yet another time.

All those people, dead. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin Creevey… The list was endless. _But could he have done something different?_

"Could I have saved them?" Harry spat in barely more than a whisper, "You lost so many people you held dear, Dumbledore. How did you manage to keep going?"

Nobody answered. The portraits on the wall were fast asleep; an elderly wizard dressed in medieval robes was snoring softly.

Harry stood up; his legs were numb after hours of sitting, and it felt good to stretch them. He manoeuvred his way through the room, careful to avoid knocking over any of the parchment piles he had assembled. Dumbledore's portrait hung in front of him. Like his colleagues, the wizard was sleeping, purple hat drawn over the upper half of his face.

"Professor," Harry attempted to wake the wizard. "Professor Dumbledore!" The portrait let out a loud snort and pulled the hat lower to cover his entire face. "Hey!" Harry raised his voice, "I'm trying to talk to you!"

His efforts were yielding fruit. "Harry…" the wizard sighed. The purple hat had slid from his face. "What is it? Why won't you let me sleep?"

Harry halted, not having thought through what he wanted to do. Dumbledore, however, had shaken off his sleepiness and was now studying the young wizard before him. His eyes were twinkling in the manner he had been famous for while alive. Harry looked away. Talking to a portrait would not help him.

"You seem distressed," Dumbledore remarked. "Can I help you with something?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry answered.

"The interesting experience of becoming a portrait on a wall does not make one gullible, Harry," the wizard retorted. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Harry?"

"No sir, nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Dumbledore quirked up one eyebrow and was carefully studying Harry's face. Suddenly he smiled. "Why don't you take a look at my desk? In the second drawer on the right, there's a small yellow box; you may have to dig a bit."

Harry cast a questioning glance at the portrait, but started to move towards the desk nonetheless. He had to circle a heap of yet unsorted books and documents. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had not been very specific in his will on what was to be given to whom.

Harry opened the drawer. Behind a few rugged-looking quills, an inkpot, some used tube tickets and a piggybank was a small, bright yellow tin. Harry opened it.

"Muggle sweets?" He asked incredulously, taking one of them out of the box. 'Lemon Sherbet Drops' it read on the wrapper.

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore, smiling. He was resting his elbows on the wooden frame of his portrait. "Why don't you have one?"

Harry started laughing. "Sure, why not? After all, if a painted canvas can offer advice, why can't a sweet offer comfort?"

He peeled off the wrapper, pocketed it and put the small sweet into his mouth. "It doesn't even taste like lemon. More like…hmm…tangerine?" The portrait, however, had already gone back to sleep.

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A/N: Thanks to kmfrank for the advice on grammar/spelling and dialogue. Also, thanks to Virail for britpicking and a third opinion.

This story will have seven chapters and an epilogue; the first chapter will probably be published next week.

EDIT: Thanks to e1wasf and Taure, they pointed out a few more mistakes in the WbA thread on DLP.


	2. The Snake

**Diamond Skies **

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**Chapter 1**

**"The Snake"**

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Half an hour later, Harry had assembled a large pile of parchments concerning various 'Defence against the Dark Arts'-related topics in front of him. There were several other piles of others; Alchemy, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes being among the largest. Dumbledore had been a universal genius, and that reflected in the diversity of his notes.

Harry eyed the bookshelves at the other end of the room. Sorting through them would be much easier, even if he would have to take a look inside most of the books, because they carried no titles on their spines. Harry stretched his arms over his head and sighed. Maybe one more day of work and he would be done assembling his part of Dumbledore's inheritance.

Suddenly, Harry felt something sliding around his ankle. He jerked his foot away instinctively. However, since he was still sitting atop that foot, he lost his balance and knocked over the stack of parchments he had only just finished sorting. Dozens of notes fluttered across the room.

"Damn it!" Harry cursed as he looked around wildly to see whatever had crawled over his foot.

There was nothing. Parchments and magical implements were all that littered the floor, but Harry doubted they would reach out and molest his foot. 'I'm getting too bloody paranoid', he thought. It had probably been the edge of his robes.

As he settled down to return to work, he realised that his legs had become numb again. Cursing to himself he rose awkwardly, vowing to use a cushioning charm next time. He quickly assembled the scattered parchments onto one pile. The damage had not been as extensive as it had appeared on first glance.

Harry took a big step over the Alchemy notes and walked up to the first bookshelf. He rose up on his tiptoes and cast a quick detection charm on the top shelf, but did not find any concealed hexes or curses. McGonagall had swept the whole office for magical protections, but after having been bitten in the nose by one parchment and almost strangled by another, Harry was not going to take chances.

Bracing himself for any magical traps he might not have found – Dumbledore had not been called one of the greatest wizards of the century for nothing – he pulled out a book covered in dark brown leather. There was no title on the spine, so Harry opened it. 'Wand Movements for the Transfiguration of Living Objects through the Ages', the first page read. He found no nasty jinx on the book, so Harry put it on a small table standing next to the shelf without marking it as cursed.

He had raised his hand to pull out another unnamed book when he felt something slide around his foot again. Harry spun around, just in time to witness the tail of a large, brown and green-scaled snake sliding through the door leading out of Dumbledore's office.

Harry blinked. A snake? In _Hogwarts_?

He let his hand fall down, jumped over another pile of notes and hurried down the spiral staircase. The gargoyle protecting the entrance jumped away to let Harry pass.

His gaze flickered across the deserted corridor. A few portraits were hung on the walls, several knights' armours stood at irregular distances from each other. There was no sign of the snake.

"I must be wrong," Harry said aloud. "The thing would never have gotten past the gargoyle." He turned around, shaking off his uneasiness. 'What was that password again?'

"_Come…come to me….Let me rip you….Let me tear you….Let me kill you…"_

Harry froze. That voice… 'No! No, it can't be! That's _impossible_!'

"… _rip_… _tear_… _kill_…" Harry's feet seemed to have developed a will of their own; before he knew what was happening he was standing next to the wall, one ear pressed against the cold stone.

Harry listened for several moments, struggling to calm down. Frantic thoughts were racing through his head.

'It can't be the basilisk, I killed it five years ago! I shouldn't be able to understand it anyway! That ability died with the horcrux – I even tried it out on a few conjured snakes. Voldemort is dead, truly and utterly dead!'

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him? 'Yes,' he thought. 'The notes – I've sorted through a lot of them today.'

"… _Soo hungry_… _for so long_…"

The voice was pulling Harry in, scary and tempting at the same time. While the first few words had sounded dangerously close, they grew fainter, indicating that the snake was moving away from him.

Coming to a decision, Harry stepped towards a very large mirror that was hanging on the wall.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ With a flick of his wand, he carefully directed the heavy frame out of its mounting. When it was steadily floating in front of him, he cast a temporary shrinking charm on the mirror, adjusting the size in order to make it possible to be carried with one hand. It would revert back to its original form in a few hours, but for now it was fine.

"This doesn't mean that there's actually a basilisk on the loose," Harry declared aloud. Even he was not convinced. "I'm just checking. Just to be sure."

It had sounded as though the snake had been moving towards the Great Hall, which was not far from Dumbledore's office. Harry forced himself to calmly set one foot in front of the other. Being too hasty would only make it more likely for him to slip up. He would not be of any help if he got himself killed before he could warn someone.

When he reached the first corner his nerves were fluttering. 'Is this what Hermione had felt back in Second Year? Relying on pure chance? Hell, at least I know I won't die immediately.'

Harry drew in a deep breath and then held up the mirror. His hand was shaking badly, making it difficult to catch a glance at what was possibly hiding around the corner. Not for the first time in the last hour he cursed his nerves, bringing his wand hand up to support the one holding the mirror.

Nothing happened - he did not turn to stone or drop dead, as he had half-expected. Harry let out a sigh of relief. "No need to be so jumpy," he lectured himself in a whisper, "or so paranoid."

The war had left scars on everyone, only some of them visible. Harry had pulled his wand at every shadow and sharp noise in the first few weeks after the final battle with Voldemort. It had been difficult to adjust to living with other people again, after he had spent so much time with just Ron and Hermione in a tent.

He had calmed down and become less irritable, but he would never be as trusting and easy-going as he had been before he set out to hunt down the horcruxes. _Constant Vigilance_, Mad-Eye Moody had always preached. No wonder the man had gone nuts.

"… _Kill_… _time to kill_…"

There it was again! The voice was not far from Harry. Shaking off the last bits of his insecurity, Harry quickened his pace. He was close to the Great Hall already and it seemed like his first guess had been correct. The snake was definitely moving towards it.

When Harry arrived at the tall door he once more used the mirror to spy around the corner, pressing himself against the oaken frame. The Hall was empty.

Harry heard the giant door of the main entrance creak. There was no doubt – someone (or something?) had opened it, and the noise was too unique to have been caused by anything else.

Harry held up the mirror again, just in time to catch a glimpse of the same brown and green-scaled tail he had chased after earlier. He had almost forgotten about the animal, he was so caught up in his conspiracy theories about basilisks.

While it was certainly weird to have a snake roam the halls of Hogwarts he had witnessed far stranger things in his school career. Harry stepped into the Hall. There was no basilisk in sight, and the few tables and chairs were not enough for a full-sized king of snakes to hide behind.

"Back to sorting books then," Harry murmured. After throwing one last glance around at the hall he turned around, about to go on with his work.

"… _I smell blood_… _I SMELL BLOOD_!"

The voice was extremely close now. 'No, I'm not imagining this!'

A few big steps later and Harry was at the door. He leant against it, the mirror in the left hand and his wand in his right. The nervous flutter was back. Harry pushed his weight against the door, opening it just a crack. He let go of the mirror and it fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. The sight that greeted him was overwhelming.

Disregarding the danger of the basilisk that might be nearby, Harry pushed the door wide open. The sky was coloured in a lurid mix of yellow and orange which for some reason made Harry think of the marmalade he had spread on a slice of bread this morning for breakfast. The trees were all a rich orange colour that blended almost seamlessly into the sky. But strangest of all was the grass – usually a pleasant green, it was now a deep blue.

"I must be hallucinating," Harry whispered, rubbing his eyes with the hand that had been holding the mirror just seconds ago. He was supporting himself on the doorframe, struggling to keep his footing, his head spinning. "This is crazy."

He stood there for several long moments, waiting for the world to return to its usual colours, but in vain. A gentle breeze was blowing through the grass, making it shimmer in a lighter blue.

"Maybe there was a curse on one of the books that I didn't notice," Harry tried to reason. He had not heard of any such magic, but he knew that Dumbledore's knowledge had far exceeded his own and that of anyone he knew.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" He tried on himself, but to no avail; his vision did not change.

"Well, that would have been too easy, huh?" Harry murmured.

He took a few steps forward, down the short flight of stairs that led up to the main entrance. When he reached the edge of the meadow, he used his foot to test the stability of the blue grass that was covering the ground. It seemed normal to him, so Harry put his weight on it and then leant down to touch the grass. The blades were smooth against his hand. Aside from its strange looks the blue variety did not seem different from the regular kind.

Harry straightened up again. Not surprisingly for this time of the year, nobody was outside. Only Filch and Hagrid were staying at Hogwarts over the summer; even McGonagall had not pitched camp yet.

That was unusual for a Headmistress; Dumbledore himself, Harry had learned from his former Head of House, had not owned any other quarters aside from his rooms at Hogwarts. Maybe after the memories of the last year had faded a bit, McGonagall too would stay for the summer.

The thought of the still-marauding basilisk welled up in Harry's mind. The monster was certainly more threatening than an unusually coloured landscape. Cursing himself for his negligence, Harry carefully took in his surroundings once more, this time paying more attention to possible hiding places. At least his inattentiveness had not cost him his life. Or had it? Was this what the world looked like when you die?

"I'm not dead," Harry attempted to convince himself. "I can't be. The last time I died it was definitely more noticeable."

Harry could see the outline of Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the dark brown wood sharply contrasting with the orange trees. Perhaps he should just go and pay Hagrid a visit? It would also prove that Harry was not dead. The last time he had seen his friend, the half-giant had been alive and well.

Harry fell into a measured tread, not too fast and not too slow – after all there was still a basilisk hiding somewhere. This was, on second thought, rather strange in itself. What reason would the snake have to leave the castle in the first place?

All of a sudden, the texture of the ground beneath him changed. Harry almost stumbled, but managed to get a hold of himself in the last moment. His right foot was stuck to the grass, the soft blades coated with some sort of slimy goo.

Harry planted his left foot firmly into the ground and, with noticeable effort, managed to fight free his other.

He kneeled down and took a closer look at the trail. A thick coat of slime was spread all over it. It would have been almost impossible to spot had it not been for the fact that the blue grass was also pressed flat where the slime had touched it.

"Giant slugs?" Harry mused loudly. The slime trail, more than a metre wide, was leading away from the castle and into the forest.

Harry's blood froze. What if it was the basilisk? It had not produced any slime in his Second Year, but the diameter would certainly fit the snake.

Harry quickly got back on his feet. The trail, at least, was proof enough that he had not been dreaming. The voice had been real!

He was able to see the trees of the Forbidden Forest in detail now, the leaves and branches easily to distinguish from where he was. And they were still orange, from head to toe. The trail vanished between two firs, shielding whatever was hiding behind them from being seen.

Harry cast a worried look at Hagrid's hut – it was far too close to the slime trail for his taste. He was near enough to clearly recognise door and windows. Hopefully his friend was alright. The half-giant was very fond of wandering the forest; what if he had decided to go look after some weird and dangerous creature and stumbled across the basilisk?

The young wizard quickened his pace again, rapidly approaching the edge of the forest. The vivid scenery, which had only seemed strange before, now had an eerie touch to it. Something was wrong – something besides the colour.

When Harry passed the first tree, an oak, he paused and slid behind it. "Damn, I forgot I broke the mirror," he cursed loudly. Then he remembered that this was probably not the smartest thing to do and fell silent. The basilisk would hear or smell him long before he would be in sight.

Harry was reluctant to go back and retrieve the mirror; the snake was too close to Hagrid's hut. He would have to succeed without it.

'I bet Hermione would know how to transfigure any random object into a mirror,' Harry thought. 'Then again, Lavender and Parvati would, too.'

He bent down to scoop up a handful of dirt from the ground, then straightened again and slowly let it trickle through his fingers. At least the wind was favouring him; the basilisk would not smell his arrival.

Harry made sure he was holding his wand in a tight grip and set out to follow the trail into the woods. He paused behind every tree, taking in his surroundings. The slime was far more visible on forest ground than it had been on the grass of Hogwarts' meadows.

The eerie feeling from earlier was intensifying. Realisation struck Harry. 'It's too quiet here,' he thought.

The only sounds were coming from Harry's feet and a slight breeze which was ruffling through the branches. 'Not even the bloody birds are singing.'

The smell of the snake came on all of a sudden. A rancid, nasty stink was filling his lungs, like wet old leather left to rot. Harry quickly jumped behind the nearest tree, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

A giant snake was resting between the bushes, half-hidden behind a spruce whose branches were bent low, almost touching the forest soil. Harry could only see its tail. It was protruding from behind a bush, covered in scales of a sickly green colour.

There was no doubt – the creature was a basilisk. But what was it doing here in the forest? The fear Harry had felt before was now mingling with anger. How had this abomination found its way here? Voldemort was dead; nobody else was insane enough to unleash a basilisk onto Hogwarts, let alone able to control it.

Harry would have to kill it. The beast had not noticed him yet – otherwise he would already be dead.

Careful not to make any noise and betray his presence, Harry slowly approached the basilisk. He needed to strike the head. A cutting curse would do the trick.

'_For enemies'_, the description in Snape's potions book had said about the _Sectumsempra _curse. Harry had no qualms about using it against the basilisk.

Just a little bit closer…

He never made it. Eyes focused on the basilisk's tail, Harry stumbled over a protruding root. He fell to the ground, impacting solidly against it despite having shielded himself with his elbow. His wand went flying several metres through the air, into the direction of the snake.

Harry froze. His heart skipped a beat, each second stretching into an eternity. Then the tail vanished behind the bush.

He did not waste another second. It was impossible to retrieve his wand without getting himself killed immediately, so Harry scrambled himself up and did the reasonable thing – he ran.

Panic was clouding Harry's thoughts, but somehow he managed to remember to stay between the tress. He would never stand a chance against the basilisk on open ground, but if he stayed in the underbrush he might be able to shake it off…

Thorns and branches left deep scratches on Harry's arms as he struggled to keep going, but he did not pause. He could hear the basilisk drawing nearer.

Harry would not be able to keep up much longer at this pace, he needed his wand – but he was not sure how to retrieve it. Running back was not an option; the basilisk was rapidly closing in.

Another root made Harry stumble again, but he did not fall this time. Ahead of him, Hagrid's garden was gleaming through the trees.

A thought crossed Harry's mind, but in his panic he could not pin it down. Something about the basilisk's weakness –

Harry forced his way through the last line of bushes, which was especially dense and thorny. The fence of Hagrid's garden was now directly in front of him. Suddenly, Harry remembered.

'_Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it,' _the slip of paper in Hermione's hand had said.

Hagrid had chickens! Harry jumped over the fence. He could hear the basilisk drawing closer, encouraging him to run even faster.

Harry practically flew over the vegetable patches. Hagrid's pumpkins were already of a considerable size although Halloween was still months away; they would be bigger than ever when the half-giant finally harvested them.

Harry circled around the hut; the coop was on the other side of the garden. Again, he jumped over a fence. A few frightened chickens scattered apart, protesting loudly. Harry furiously examined them, but they were all hens – there was no rooster in the pen.

The basilisk was getting closer. Harry forced himself not to turn around and check how far away it still was.

"The coop," he whispered, then crossed the distance to the small cabin with a few hurried steps. Again, Harry sorely felt the loss of his wand as he frantically picked at the lock.

"Damn it!" He cursed, "It's not as if anyone would steal the damn chickens."

The hatch was not to be opened this way, so Harry took a step back. Then he lunged forward, kicking against the wood with all his might. It exploded out from under his foot, and Harry went flying into the coop.

He fell into the straw, almost swallowing some of it. One hand was coated with the remains of a raw egg that had not survived his fall. Several angry chickens were fluttering around him, making it difficult to see anything.

Harry scrambled himself up. The chickens had stirred up a lot of dust, and some of it had found its way into Harry's eyes. He rubbed his eyes. There, in the corner!

Harry lunged at the rooster and grabbed it by the feathers of its tail, ignoring the furious squeals of protest the animal was making. When he had just managed to tighten his grip around the rooster's body, the basilisk slammed itself against the hut.

The walls crumbled under the basilisk's brute force, wood splintering all over Harry. He spun around, shielding himself and the rooster from the sharp spears of wood.

The smell of the basilisk was overwhelming now. The creature towered over him, painting a deep shadow on the ground.

"SCREAM YOU FUCKING BIRD!" Harry had gripped the rooster by the throat and was shaking it with both his hands. "SCREAM!"

The animal seemed to have gone into shock. Harry let go of it, panic clouding his vision. In a futile gesture, he wrapped his arms over his head, trying to protect himself.

It was over. He could _feel_ the beast behind him, opening its mouth…

"_Cock-a-doodle-doo!_"

The world slowed again. Then the basilisk collapsed with an ear shattering noise, sending ripples through he ground.

Harry did not move. In front of him, the rooster was spreading its feathers, apparently quite pleased with itself. It wearily hopped over to Harry, gave him a reproachful look and cackled softly.

Harry let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding, and turned around. Behind him, a big green and brown-scaled snake was lying on the ground, unmoving.

It was certainly a large animal, but not large enough to be a basilisk. Harry carefully approached it. His heart skipped a beat.

"Nagini?"

Harry grabbed one of the splintered planks that had formerly been part of the coop. He poked the snake's lifeless body, but it did not react. Harry got closer.

"Wow, it really is Nagini," he murmured. "But _how_? And how the hell did she manage to destroy that henhouse?"

Again, he poked the snake. Its eyes were white, indicating blindness.

'She shouldn't have died from hearing a rooster cry,' Harry thought. He sat down next to the remains of the coop, eyes travelling over what was now only a pile of wood.

"Looks like Hagrid needs a new henhouse."

Harry glanced down at Nagini again. On an impulse, he took a shard of wood in his hand and walked over to the snake's body.

Then he slammed the shard down on Nagini's head with all his strength. The breaking bones made a repulsive noise, but to Harry's ears it sounded almost sweet. He crossed back and took another piece of wood into his hand, then drove it through the middle of the snake's body.

"Try returning from the dead like this, you fucking zombie," Harry spat.

His hair had fallen into his face, and he ran a hand through it to comb it back. His arms were covered in bruises from the earlier chase and his clothes were soiled with chicken shit, but Harry had not felt so alive in a long time.

He threw a last glance at Nagini's remains, then turned around. He still had a wand to retrieve.

On his way back through Hagrid's destroyed vegetable patches, Harry carefully eyed the ground once more. The beast chasing him had definitely been bigger than Nagini. He had not been imagining things – the trail was big enough to have come from a basilisk.

Then he remembered what he had set out to do in the first place – to visit Hagrid. "Damn it, now I have to explain to him why his coop is destroyed and his pumpkins have turned into mush."

Harry walked up to the door of the hut and knocked against it. Nobody opened – the small house looked empty.

Harry circled the hut, pressing his nose against the windows to catch a glimpse inside. No, Hagrid definitely was not there. Maybe he really had set out to roam the forest?

"He would have heard me earlier," Harry reasoned under his breath. "I wasn't exactly quiet."

He turned away from the hut and back to the forest. "Now for my wand…"

Without the imminent threat of a basilisk looming over him, Harry was able to pay more attention to his surroundings. Nothing had changed, though. The trees were still the deep orange colour of a tangerine, the sky still looked like his breakfast marmalade, and the grass was still blue.

Harry passed a few huge flowers that almost looked normal. Of course, 'normal' was a flexible expression. They were green and yellow, but seemed to be slightly translucent.

Harry's wand was buried tip-first in the soft forest soil. He bent down and pulled it out, wiping off the last few remnants of dirt with the hem of his sleeve.

A few _Reparos_ and cleaning charms later, Harry looked quite presentable again. He firmly gripped his wand and approached the rim of the forest.

"Bring it on", he muttered to himself, and stepped on the blue grass.

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A/N: Thanks again to kmfrank for excellent editing and listening to my ramblings concerning various plot bunnies. He makes for a marvellous beta when you annoy him enough.

Did you notice? The basilisk's lines are taken directly from the 'Chamber of Secrets'. So is, for instance, the excerpt from the article about it.

This is my first story. I'd love to hear what you are thinking about it! Did you spot a mistake or awkward expression? Neither I nor my beta is perfect, so please point them out to me!

EDIT: Thanks again to e1wasf who corrected some more mistakes on DLP!


	3. Fancy meeting you here!

**Diamond Skies**

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**Chapter 2  
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**"Fancy meeting you here!"**

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The air shimmered with heat. Where the blue of the meadow and the orange sky met they seemed to melt into each other, lines blurring, creating an unpleasant brownish colour.

With the back of his hand, Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead. Not for the first time he wished he had grabbed lighter robes that morning. How could it already be so hot? It was unusual for temperatures to rise that high in the Scottish mountains where Hogwarts was located, even in summer. Additionally, it was only just late in the morning, maybe around eleven.

Or was it? Harry dug a hand down into the pocket of his robe, searching for the watch the Weasleys had given him for his seventeenth birthday.

"Bugger!" he cursed. "I know I took it with me this morning."

Harry turned out his pockets, but to no avail; the only result his search yielded was the sweet wrapper from Dumbledore's office. He turned it over and rubbed it between his fingers. What would Dumbledore have done in Harry's situation?

"You died too soon, old man," he murmured. As for the watch – maybe he had lost it when he had run from the basili-… Nagi-… _the snake_.

With a frustrated grunt, Harry pocketed the small piece of paper again. Dumbledore was dead, his portrait a useless piece of painted canvas. He would have to look for answers elsewhere.

"_Accio pocket watch!_" Harry pointed his wand into the general direction of Hagrid's hut, a clear image in his mind. For several long moments, nothing happened, but then a small object bolted towards him. Harry barely managed to catch it before it fell to the ground.

"There you are," he said, turning the golden pocket watch around to take a look at the time.

A long gash dug through the glass protecting the clock face. It was partially pushed in and badly scratched, making the watch unreadable.

Tapping his wand against the battered piece, Harry muttered "_Reparo_" and the crack vanished. The now clear window, however, revealed that there was more damage than Harry had initially thought. The arm showing the hours was broken off at the centre, and the one showing the minutes was slightly bent to the side, making the watch useless.

"Just my luck," Harry growled, pushing the golden timepiece back into his robe pocket. He would have to have it repaired by a professional.

He sighed. That small watch had survived a few generations of Weasleys and Prewetts and the battle of Hogwarts, only to be flattened by – well, _a snake_. Which had been a basilisk at the time, but still.

"Harry!"

The young wizard froze.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

That voice was familiar, but – _how_?

Harry whirled around, a stunning spell on the lips, and pointed his wand towards the speaker. A man in slightly rugged-looking robes was standing in front him, light brown hair flecked with grey, and very familiar indeed.

It was Remus. _Remus_?

"Woah! Careful, boy," Remus said, putting his palms in the air. "You might want to lower that wand of yours."

Harry just stared at him.

"You know, I was surprised to find you here, not the other way round," Remus said, trying to reason with him.

"You're dead," Harry finally croaked out. "I saw your body, I buried you!"

"Me, dead?" Remus raised his eyebrows and cast a questioning glance at Harry. Then he smiled, looking almost… sad. "Not quite yet, I think."

A thought flashed through Harry's mind. What if he was dealing with an impostor?

"I need proof," he told the man. "Tell me something only the real Remus Lupin would know."

Remus sighed. "Again, Harry? Very well. The last time you questioned my identity I told you, Ron and Hermione that my middle name is John and that I taught you how to produce a Patronus in your third year. Yours takes the form of a stag."

"It's really you," Harry whispered, lowering his wand.

"I told you so," Remus said. "Pray tell, what was that bit about me being dead?"

"Nothing**.** I was just confused for a moment," Harry responded quickly. He still had his doubts as to whether this was the real Remus, but he knew that neither Ron nor Hermione would play such a cruel joke on him. However, the only other possible explanation was that the person in front of him was truly his old Defence teacher. Maybe meeting Remus here was somehow connected to the appearance of the snake and the oddly coloured landscape?

"Say, Harry," Remus interrupted his trail of thoughts, "Are you here to escort me to the station?"

"The station?" Harry asked, then added on a hunch, "Yeah, sure. That's why I'm here."

"Then let's go**.** I can't be late for the train – I'm going to see Dora!"

They started walking.

"Dora? You mean Tonks?" Harry could not stop himself from asking.

"Of course," Remus answered, not caring to elaborate.

"But… um, never mind." Harry did not pry any further.

They continued their way in silence, something Harry was quite grateful for**,** since he had a lot to think about. Dumbledore had told him that no one could return from the dead. There were limits to what magic was capable of achieving, and that was one of them.

So, if nothing could bring a person back to life – and Remus was not an Inferius, that much Harry was sure of – there was only one logical explanation for what was happening.

Harry shivered. What if he was dead, too? Was this what hell looked like, orange sky and blue grass? He had never been a very religious person, but this place did not exactly fit the image he had created in his mind of 'hell'. Well, at least the temperature was about right.

He was not getting anywhere with this. Maybe Remus knew something? He seemed to be at ease with the rather peculiar surroundings.

"Remus," Harry addressed the older man. "Did you notice anything unusual about** –** for example **–** the grass?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Uh, nothing." Apparently, Harry was the only one to notice the weird colours. Then another thought occurred to him.

"Have you seen Teddy? He's living with his grandmother, Andromeda. The last time I visited he morphed into a smaller version of me, complete with black hair, scar and all that."

Harry was aware that he was babbling, but he could not stop himself.

"Andromeda says he does that a lot **– **morphing into other people, I mean. He once got his hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet and had a lot of trouble deciding whom to morph into because there were so many different faces in the photographs."

"So she is taking good care of Teddy?"

"Yeah, she's constantly fussing about him. You'd almost think Teddy was her own child," Harry assured the other man.

Remus smiled, the same sad expression on his face.

"That's good."

Harry waited, but the werewolf did not volunteer any more answers. Through the trees, he could already see part of the station. The train was not there yet.

"How are things between you and Ginny?" The unexpected question tore Harry from his ponderings about Remus' indifference towards his son.

"Fine!" Harry hurried to answer. "Really, they're great. She's a nice girl."

Even to his own ears the words sounded false. There, that smile again! It was driving Harry crazy.

His mind steered towards Ginny again. She definitely was a nice girl, but dating her felt more and more a bit like he imagined dating his own sister would feel – if he had ever had one.

Harry had caught her reading a copy of "My Magical Wedding" the other day, a wizarding magazine full of cheesy pictures showing witches in bridal dresses. They had both blushed furiously and Ginny had mumbled a few incomprehensible words about 'just being curious', but Harry knew there was more behind it.

Then he paused. Remus had only brought up Ginny to distract him from asking more questions about Teddy, and the distraction had _worked_. But why was Remus so averse to talking about his son? Why was he behaving so oddly _in general_? Another thing was bugging the young wizard.

"Remus, why don't you just Apparate?" Harry asked. "The anti**-**apparition wards don't extend to the station."

"Apparate?" Remus seemed to contemplate the suggestion. "No, the train is quicker. And easier."

Harry cast a questioning glance at the Marauder.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, quite so," Remus answered. "I'm taking the train."

They had reached the station. The train had not arrived yet, and there was nobody else in sight.

"Take care of Teddy," Remus said to Harry. "We chose well. I could not imagine a better godfather for him than you."

"Take care? Why don't you take care of him?" Harry asked incredulously.

Remus did not respond to Harry's question. Instead, he pulled a dirty package out of a pocket of his robes, small enough to fit into a closed fist.

"Dumbledore asked me to give this to you."

He offered the package to Harry, but the young man did not accept it, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Damn it, why can't you just give me a straight answer?" Harry demanded, getting angrier by the minute. "Why can't you take care of your own son **–** and what's with that package?"

"Please, Harry, just take it."

"Dumbledore is dead; he can't give people packages for me. Fuck it, Tonks is dead, _you're dead_, for Merlin's sake!"

"Only two points out of three, Harry."

"Quit playing games with me!"

In an instant, the friendly expression on Remus' face vanished and was replaced with shocked surprise that turned into grim determination. Quickly, the man drew his wand, but he was not fast enough – Harry had never let go of his own and pointed it at the Marauder.

"Harry, it's not me you should fight!" Remus pleaded, his eyes never meeting Harry's, flickering frantically across something behind him.

"Duck!" Remus shouted at him, jumping aside.

Despite his anger, Harry's instincts won over and he complied with Remus' command. A split second later, a stream of green light bolted over his head and crashed into a nearby tree. It exploded violently, sending splinters and leaves into all directions.

Two figures clad in black robes had emerged from behind the tree line of the small forest that belonged to Hogsmeade, rapidly approaching the platform. Their faces were hidden behind hoods.

Harry scrambled to his feet and hurried to Remus' side, pointing his wand at the intruders. The Marauder had taken cover behind a waiting bench and conjured a shield.

"_Protego!_" Harry cast a shield charm, then addressed his friend**.** "What the hell is going on here? Who are these people?"

Not deigning to answer the question, Remus shoved the package into Harry's hands. "Please, trust me on this!"

"Hand over the package, Remus," a squeaky voice sounded through the station. "Please, we don't want to harm you."

Harry froze. He knew that voice! But that was impossi- no, _not impossible_, considering the recent events…

Apparently, Harry was not the only one who had recognised the speaker. Remus bolted out from behind the bank, an "_Expelliarmus_" on the lips which did not reach its target, missing the figures by several metres.

"_Confringo_!"

A flash of red light shot through the air, hitting the bench, which exploded, covering the surrounding area in more splinters. Those that hit Harry's shield glowed for a short moment and then vanished, leaving small fountains of smoke behind. He was pushed backwards by the force of the explosion; the remains of the bench caught fire and quickly burned down.

"We? Bloody rat, you're only speaking for yourself!" the second person screeched. Judging from the tone, she was definitely female – and familiar to Harry as well.

Harry searched for Remus. The man was standing a few metres away from him, wand pointed at one of the figures whose hood had fallen down, probably while evading the disarming charm. It was Peter Pettigrew.

"He's mine, Harry!" Remus shouted at the younger wizard, then at Peter: "You won't get it! _Expulso!_"

"_Protego!_" In the last moment, Pettigrew managed to conjure a shield; a second later Remus' spell impacted and erupted into a myriad of colours. The force behind the curse caused Pettigrew's shield to flicker and die.

Meanwhile, the second figure had pulled down her hood, revealing herself as Bellatrix Lestrange. Her hair looked as crazy as usual and her eyes were shining with the same old madness Harry was just too familiar with.

"Potter," she said, sounding gleeful. "Fancy meeting you here. Now be a good boy and give me the package."

"You!" Harry spat, rage clouding his thoughts. "Fuck off, bitch! _Sectumsempra_!"

Bellatrix narrowly evaded the curse, jumping aside and conjuring a shield charm. It slammed into another tree, cutting it to pieces.

"Aww, language," she chided him, eyes lighting up in anticipation. "Harry dearest wants to play!"

"_Reducto!_" Another curse, another miss as Bellatrix stepped aside.

"You really should work on your aim, Potter," she taunted Harry, "You're no fun at all. _Crucio!"_

Now it was Harry's turn to run. He flung himself around, dropping to the ground as the curse sailed over him and rolled behind a pine tree. Hauling himself up, the needles covering the forest soil dug viciously into his palms. However, the pain of the stings cleared his head and enabled him to think clearly again. If he wanted to beat Bellatrix he would have to gather his wits, not blindly shoot curses at her. His eyes travelled over the ground. He needed an idea, and he needed it fast…

The pine cones! The ground was literally covered with them –

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry's reflexes, honed by years of Quidditch training and the little combat experience he had had saved him another time. He hurled himself to the side and out of Bellatrix' field of vision, almost hitting his head on the stem of another tree. That would have been a rather ungraceful way to end this fight, he considered.

Bellatrix, it seemed, was done playing.

"Give me the package, Potter, or I'll come and get it!" she screamed.

Harry shot a look at Remus and Peter. The two men were still firing curses at each other, but Remus was slowly winning the fight. Pettigrew was losing ground, pushed back a few steps with every spell his onetime friend cast at him – he was rapidly approaching the end of the platform. Harry tore his gaze from the other men's fight; he had his own to win.

He pointed his wand at the pine cones. "_Oppugno_!"

The cones whirled into the air, and with a flick of his wand, Harry directed them at Bellatrix. They hit her shield and erupted into fiery sparks, momentarily distracting the witch. There were few spells Harry could think of that would certainly perpetrate a _Protego_ charm –

"_Crucio!_" he spat, pointing his wand at Bellatrix. The curse hit her in the stomach and sent her to the ground, writhing in pain and screaming in agony.

Power flooded through Harry's veins, tempting him to pour more and more effort into the curse. He had forgotten what a sense of satisfaction it gave him to torture the witch who had killed Sirius, how easy it was to enjoy her screams –

The sound of a large explosion brought him back to his senses. Harry's concentration broke and with it the spell. Bellatrix stopped screaming. She lay on the ground, twitching and jerking uncontrollably from the after effects of the Cruciatus.

Pettigrew had somehow managed to sneak a curse through Remus' defences. The backslash of the explosion had sent the werewolf flying through the air, crashing against a solid oak tree. He was disorientated, and would fall prey to Peter if Harry did not intervene…

"_Stupefy!_"

Harry's stunner hit Pettigrew in the back. The man crumbled to the ground and Harry hurried over to check on Remus. Luckily, the older wizard sported no greater injuries and was already scrambling to his feet as Harry arrived at the tree.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked his friend.

"Yeah, I think so."

Remus dusted off his robes and threw a look at Bellatrix, who was still struggling with the aftermath of being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. Then he strolled over to Peter and drew his wand.

"What are you doing?"

"Finishing him off," Remus answered darkly. "He won't hurt anyone again."

"Just like this?" Harry asked incredulously. "Murdering him in cold blood? Why don't we hand him over to the Ministry?"

"I need to do this, Harry," Remus said with a frightening finality in his voice. "Don't stop me."

"But-"

Remus pointed his wand at Pettigrew and conjured up ropes that wound themselves around the man's body.

"_Ennervate!_"

The former Marauder blinked a few times, still disoriented from being stunned. Then he realised what was happening.

"Remus! H-Harry! Please, we- we can talk about this," he pleaded.

"I've waited a long time for this, Peter," Remus said slowly, his wand still pointed at Pettigrew. Then, before Harry could react:

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A green light flashed towards Peter. The man slumped down, an expression of terror on his face.

Harry stared at Remus.

"I had to, Harry," the werewolf said, sounding tired. "And I'm not going to apologise for it. Now, as for Bellatrix –"

"_Accio packet!_"

The small object was tugged from Harry's pocket and flew into Bellatrix' outstretched hand. She was looking decidedly worse for wear. The muscles in her face were still twitching and she had to struggle to stay on her feet, but she was standing.

"Thank you, Harry dearest," she cooed, winking at him and waving the package. "See you soon!"

Then she turned on her heel and Apparated away.

"Bugger!" Harry cursed. "What was in that package, Remus?"

His friend, however, was not listening to him. His eyes were fixed on the incoming train whose outline was shining through the trees from afar.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I have to go," Remus said, starting to walk over to the platform.

"What? But you can't leave now; we need to get that thing back from her! I don't know what's in there, but surely you don't want Voldemort to have it!"

Harry ran after his friend who was steadily ignoring him.

"Damn it, talk to me!"

The train had almost arrived at the station, its brakes screeching to make the vehicle come to a halt. A thought was tugging at the back of Harry's mind, one he had dismissed earlier because there had been more pressing matters to consider –

_Take care of Teddy._

_Only two points out of three, Harry._

_I'm going to see Dora._

Harry's eyes widened.

"Remus. Remus, no!"

That sad smile again, that cursed smile!

"Goodbye, Harry."

Then he jumped.

Harry lunged forward, trying to catch his friend, but he was too slow. The train rushed into the station, and Remus vanished from view. As the doors opened and hundreds of students poured onto the platform, Harry just stood there, staring into the void Remus' departure had left.

Whatever this strange place was, 'hell' fit the bill quite well.

.

.

.

**A/N:**

A lot of people helped me with this chapter, and I'd like to thank them for it.

First, a big thank you to **Slashbutterfly**, my very, very helpful beta reader – without her, this chapter would have suffered from a lot of mistakes, bad phrasing and the like.

Thanks** kmfrank **for bouncing off ideas with me and being helpful in general.

Thank you, **Oz**, for clearing up a few grammatical questions.

Thank you** Sesc** and **Tinn** for reassuring me that the particular method of suicide utilised in this chapter is actually realistic and, who would have thought, quite popular.

And, last but not least, thank **You**, for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!


	4. By a Hair's Breadth

**Diamond Skies**

**.**

**Chapter 3**

**"By a Hair's Breadth"**

**.**

**.**

It felt like floating.

Trying to process what had just happened, Harry stood at the platform, the echo of the screeching brakes still reverberating in his ears.

_A miss by a hair's breadth is still a miss._

He took a step towards the point Remus had jumped from. A faint red hue covered the ground, almost unnoticeable on the grey stone of the platform. Harry knelt down and reached for the floor. Just before his fingers made contact he hastily pulled away and stumbled back a few steps, biting on his hand to stop a loud sob from escaping.

If only he had been a little faster…

"Hey!"

Someone was shaking him. "Why'd you get off the train without me?"

Harry blinked a few times, not quite understanding why he was being disturbed.

"You know, there'll be a feast in the Great Hall. No need to eat your hand, mate."

The voice sounded young, and Harry turned around to assess the speaker. The first thing he saw was the flaming red hair.

Harry blinked again. From underneath a carpet of freckles, the face of a young boy was grinning at him. Judging from his looks, it was a Weasley.

"What are you doing on the ground?" **t**he redhead asked, offering him his hand. Harry stared at it for several moments, then looked back at the Weasley**,** who was getting impatient.

"Did I just grow another head? Why are you staring at me like that?" **t**he boy asked.

Still in a daze, Harry took the proffered hand and was pulled to his feet.

"Gee, you definitely ate too many sandwiches," the young Weasley grumbled, rubbing his arm. "So, what were you doing down there?"

"I-"

Harry paused, glancing at the spot he had been crouching on just moments ago. Although faint, the red stain seemed to capture his full attention every time he dared to look. He forcefully tore his eyes away, before continuing**.** "I lost something."

"What did you lose? Did you find it?"

When Harry did not answer, the boy knelt down, his eyes scanning the ground. He took a careful look, then announced:

"There's nothing. Are you sure you lost it here and not on the train?

Sadly, Harry smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for helping."

He turned around to walk away – not knowing where, just away. Then a thought struck him, shaking him out of the stupor he had been in ever since Remus had jumped.

"Take a look at the ground, right here. Can you see it?"

Harry pointed towards the patch he had been examining earlier. The blood had dried and was even harder to distinguish now against the dark stone, but it was definitely still recognisable.

Quizzically, the boy raised an eyebrow. "I don't see anything**.** What's supposed to be there?

Harry's mind was buzzing with activity. The Weasley had not seen the blood, or at least not recognised it as such. Moreover, there had been no panicked shouting and screaming when Remus had jumped; at least the chief guard should have noticed something!

The boy was still waiting for him. For the first time, Harry took a closer look at his face. Of course, all members of the Weasley family resembled each other – the boy looked familiar. But at the same time he also looked a tad _too_ _familiar_…

"What's your name?" Harry asked the boy. "Have we met before?"

The redhead gave him an incredulous stare.

"You don't recognise your own twin?"

Now it was Harry's turn to stare. Upon noticing his intent gaze, a wide grin spread across the boy's face and he started laughing.

"That was a pathetic joke, you know, but the look on your face is pretty funny right now!"

"Ah – ah yeah, my bad," Harry stuttered. What on Earth was happening here?

A booming voice interrupted them.

"Oy! Ye' two are firs' years, aren't ye'? Get going, lads, follow me!"

Hagrid was standing at the end of the narrow dark path that led to the pier, waving for them with one of his big hands. The Weasley boy tugged on his sleeve.

"We're late, hurry up! I don't want to miss my own sorting!"

The platform was almost empty now; here and there a few scattered students still lingered, unable to decide upon a carriage to get into. Harry took a long look at them, contemplating whether he should just make his goodbyes and leave. The boy was weird, and the situation felt more and more awkward. Then again, what harm would it do if he just played along for now? Quickly, he followed the redhead.

They did not talk anymore, and Harry was grateful for the silence; he had a lot to think about. The boy had referred to him as his twin, and there was only one pair of twins in the Weasley family that Harry knew of – Fred and George Weasley. Fred was dead**;** George was still alive**,** but missing an ear. The boy looked like a younger version of them, so it was probably safe to assume that he was, indeed, Fred or George.

The sight of the Great Lake made Harry stop dead in his tracks. The once dark blue water was red, that deep scarlet shade you could only find in one place –

Blood. Just like on the platform.

Harry pushed the thought as far away as he could. He would not think about this right now. Not now. Later there would be time to think. _Not now_.

Hagrid was waving for them again. "Get on them boats, lads. But no more'n four to one!"

Should he approach the half giant? Or would Hagrid jump into the lake and drown himself if he dared to talk to him? No, he would probably just be mistaken for a first year – Hagrid had not recognised him until now**;** surely he would have addressed Harry if he had seen him walk up to the boats with a bunch of first years! No, there was nothing he could do.

The only seats left were on a boat that was already occupied by a friendly-looking boy with dark skin. He gave Harry and the Weasley a welcoming smile, inviting them to sit with him. Harry did not have to look twice **–** the resemblance was overwhelming. The boy looked like –

"Hey guys! Lee Jordan's the name, who are you?"

He extended his hand.

"Fred and George Weasley, very pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir," the redhead replied in a dainty fashion, grinning at Lee. He took the offered hand and shook it**;** Harry followed suit.

"And who is who?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the Weasley teased the other boy, grinning.

Seizing his chance to get a name out of him, Harry quickly interrupted the redhead.

"Oh come on, we can tell him."

"Sure we can," his supposed twin said. "I'm George, and this," he pointed at Harry, "is Fred."

"For real?"

The impish grin had never left George's face.

"For real!"

"So, how's this whole sorting thing going to work?" Lee asked. "I know about the houses, but so far everyone's been rather cryptic about how they determine which you belong in.

"Charlie said you had to beat a troll," George answered**.** "But I think he was lying."

"Of course he was," Harry interjected mechanically**. **"They wouldn't let first years fight a troll."

The topic of the conversation soon turned to chocolate frog cards, so Harry stopped listening, making approving grunts and nodding from time to time to express his agreement.

As surreal as it was, the situation he was in could have been taken straight from a bad Muggle movie. Apparently, everyone thought he was Fred Weasley. He was about to get sorted for a second time – and then there was still the question as to why nobody had noticed Remus' death, or the blood on the platform.

Harry stared into the lake. There was no current, but the boats were ruffling through the water, causing tiny waves to appear. Every now and then, a stronger one would hit their boat, licking at its sides with scarlet tongues and making smacking noises.

No, he needed to think about something else. If he spent too much time pondering about what had happened, he would snap. Were it not so damn scary, the whole scenario would be ludicrous.

The boats had almost crossed the lake and were approaching the entrance to the underground cave. The boys were talking about the sorting again.

"Our whole family's been in Gryffindor," George said. "We'll probably end up there as well. Hufflepuff is said to be sort of boring, and Slytherin is full of scary people."

"I guess Ravenclaw would be a nice alternative," Lee argued**.** "I heard that most people there are quite smart."

"Ravenclaw? Are you kidding me? I don't want to spend my whole school career buried up to the neck in books!"

George paused, pondering a thought. "Then again, they didn't put Percy in Ravenclaw, so there must be some kind of family bonus. Weasleys get put into Gryffindor, no matter what."

They had arrived at the small underground harbour**,** so Harry, George and Lee exited the boat. They walked up the stairs to the Great Entrance in silence and were handed over to McGonagall who was already waiting. The teacher led them into the small room Harry remembered from his own sorting and left them there to wait. Damn it, he could not talk to her either.

The tension in the small chamber was palpable now. Across from Harry, two children were quizzing each other about the few spells they already knew. A boy next to them looked like he would faint at any second, judging from the expression on his face and the nervous twitching of his hands.

He had been just like them once. A first year, eager to learn everything about magic he could get his hands on, and so very small and vulnerable.

Harry leant back against a wall and closed his eyes. Somehow, he felt as though he was not really here. Not as if he was not physically in the small room, waiting to get sorted, but as if he was… _detached_ from the whole situation.

Bringing up a hand to his face, Harry rubbed his eyes. Was he going crazy? Would he even know if he did?

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't care which house we'll be sorted into as long as it's the same one," said George, an earnest look on his face. "And if we don't, we'll find a way to make them put us together anyway."

"First Years, please enter the hall now," McGonagall's voice called them in. George gave his shoulder a final squeeze and went through the door.

Harry, surprised by the solemn words, stayed behind. He felt as though he had intruded on a private moment, but then again he had not asked to be here. Shaking off the thought, he approached the door. There was no one left in the anteroom apart from him**;** he needed to get going. Dumbledore would be at the sorting. Maybe he could prove his true identity to the man and get help?

Given new incentive by the idea, Harry quickly passed through the door to the Great Hall, only to stop abruptly a moment later. Gone were the students and teachers; save for a few tables and benches, the hall was empty, looking just like it had looked when Harry had chased after the snake!

He sighed in relief. Maybe this whole charade could come to an end now –

"What the hell are you waiting for?"

- or maybe not.

George Weasley was standing in a door across the hall, yelling at him.

"Run! He's still after us because of that bloody dungbomb we dropped outside!"

"WEASLEY!"

Filch had appeared behind George in the doorway. "You dirty little cretins, to my office, NOW!" he roared, seizing the boy by one ear. Mrs. Norris, his cat, was brushing around the caretaker's legs. She was looking worse than Harry had ever seen her, all dirty and dishevelled, save of course for the time she had been petrified by the basilisk.

"And here we have Weasley number two!"

Filch had spotted him, and was crossing the hall with wide steps, pulling George behind him.

"You thought you'd get away with this, didn't you?"

He let go of his victim and grabbed Harry's sleeve instead. George was wincing in pain and rubbing his ear.

"My poor Mrs. Norris… She wouldn't harm a fly, but then you little devils come along and torture her! To my office now, I won't repeat it!"

Filch pulled Harry after him and George followed, still holding his ear.

"How long have you two been here? A month? The year hasn't even quite started yet and you two have already had more detentions than all the other students of your year combined!"

Filch paused, a scary grin spreading over his face.

"Maybe you two need a more convincing punishment. Something that _hurts_. I'm sure the headmaster will approve**;** you had it coming!"

He hauled them into his office, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. The room looked just like Harry remembered. In the middle of it was a small desk**;** filing cabinets were lining the walls. Next to them stood a tall chest of drawers, meticulously labelled and categorised. Since there were no windows, the only light came from a garish chandelier which looked oddly out of place in the shabby office.

"You two, wait here and _don't touch anything_. I'm fetching Professor Dumbledore!"

Filch lowered his voice.

"And then, my dear boys, you'll have a date with these lovely little instruments!"

He pointed towards a pair of chains that hung from the wall next to the chest of drawers, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the office.

Harry and George looked at each other, and the Weasley started laughing.

"Did you see Mrs. Norris? I hadn't meant for her to get caught up in this whole dungbomb thing, but it was worth it to see the look on Filch's face!"

He paused, eyes wandering over the chest of drawers at the wall.

"I wonder what's in there**!**"

"Aren't you the least bit worried that he'll come busting through the door at any moment?" Harry asked, amused by George's daring antics.

"Ah, Filch's bark is a lot worse than his bite, Charlie says. Dumbledore would never let any of his students be tortured."

George's eyes swept over the labels on the drawers. "_Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_", he read aloud**.** "This looks promising."

Harry shrugged and opened one of the filing cabinets. "Well, only one way to find out, eh?"

Instead of files, a dozen bottles of Odgen's Old Firewhisky were stashed inside, every single one labelled with a name and a date. Apparently, Filch had kept track of whom he took his trophies from. Harry snorted – next to the bottles stood a glass.

He closed the doors of the cabinet and went over to the desk. A small chest, labelled _Miscellaneous,_ was standing on the wooden surface_. _Harry opened it, more to please George than because he himself was interested in it, then turned it over and emptied the contents onto Filch's desk.

He ruffled through the mess with the tip of his wand – just in case**;** Filch was a nasty oddball. Even if the caretaker was a squib and could not jinx or curse anything, Harry would not put it past him to hide a mousetrap amongst his belongings.

Meanwhile, George had pulled a piece of parchment out of the drawer and was waving it in the air to get Harry's attention. "Look, there's nothing on it. Why would Filch keep an empty parchment in here?"

Harry eyes widened. The Map! It had to be, and now he also remembered the situation he was in. Well, not really remembered, since he had never actually experienced it himself **–** but this was how Fred and George had found the Marauder's Map. The twins had told him when they had given it to him in his third year!

Harry looked down on the pile of stuff on Filch's desk. What could he do with this information? If only he had listened more closely to what the twins had been telling him…

A sparkling object on the desk caught his attention, tearing him from his musings. Hesitatingly, Harry reached for it and pulled it out from underneath the pile.

His heart skipped a beat. In his hand, he was holding a locket – but not just any locket. It was the very same one Kreacher had stolen from him, the one Voldemort had made into a horcrux, the one he had destroyed months ago. It was whole, no crack marring its surface.

George interrupted Harry's train of thoughts.

"He's back!"

Harry gave a bitter laugh. "Who, Voldemort?"

At the mentioning of the Dark Lord's name, George jerked in surprise, but quickly pulled himself together. He held up a hand, signalling Harry to be quiet. From far away, footsteps were approaching the office.

"No, worse! It's Filch! If he catches us going through his stuff he might give us detention for the rest of the year!"

George took a dungbomb out of his pocket and stuffed both it and the Map into Harry's hands.

"Take this; I still need a bit more time! Throw the bomb somewhere to distract Filch so I can rig his office with these little beauties."

He pulled a packet out of his other pocket and presented the contents to Harry. Inside there were at least twenty firecrackers.

"Didn't I tell you about them? I got them via owl order, a real bargain! They're a knock-off of those Dr. Filibuster makes!"

Harry stuffed the locket away and bolted out of the office, only stopping to throw the dungbomb into the direction the noises were coming from. It flew away in a high arc and fell to the ground, releasing its contents. He hurried around a corner, then tapped the parchment with his wand and murmured, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

From the point his wand was touching, thin ink lines spread over the parchment, creating a sketch of the castle. The familiar welcoming words appeared at the bottom, but Harry only had eyes for the corridor he had thrown the dungbomb in. Filch was nowhere near it.

Listening closely, Harry peered around the corner. He had heard steps** –** that much he was sure of **–** but now they had vanished. He took another look at the map. No, Filch was not here. The only dot in the vicinity was still in the caretaker's office, moving slightly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. There was a name next to the dot, but it was not the one he had expected. _Fred Weasley_, the tiny handwriting read. Fred and George had always had a habit of telling people the wrong names**;** he must have done so to Lee on the boat…

Wait a minute, Fred was dead. Just like Remus had been – and was once more, now.

Realisation dawned on Harry. He hurried around the corner and back down the corridor Filch's office was located on, but he never made it to the small room.

In an ear shattering explosion, the door to the office was torn off its hinges and slammed against the opposite wall. Tall flames burst out of the room, leaving dark scorch marks on the ground. Harry was forced backwards by the backlash, crashing against a wall. He frantically searched for his wand. It was not on his body, he had just held it…

There, on the floor, only a few metres away from him! He scrambled up and crossed the distance in a few hurried steps, whisking his wand from the ground.

"_Aguamenti!"_

A thick fountain of water shot from Harry's wand and into the office, but the flames seemed to be resistant to it, only growing more and more intense. Harry tore on his hair, searching for an idea.

"_Accio Fred!"_

Nothing happened.

Another _Aguamenti_ on his lips, Harry doused himself in water and stepped into the office. The heat was unbearable, burning his skin and scorching his eyebrows. The biting smoke made his eyes water and his lungs itch**,** the air filled with the stench of burning flesh. It impeded his vision completely…

Harry stepped on something soft. Recoiling slightly, he grabbed for Fred and hauled him out of the burning room.

The boy was so very, very light, almost weightless. Harry laid him down on the stone floor, kneeling down next to him and checking for a pulse. Horrible wounds were covering most of Fred's face, his red hair burned away by the flames.

The moments stretched into eternities.

No pulse.

Since his eyes were welling over, he still had trouble seeing, and he had not stopped coughing. Cursed smoke.

Harry pulled the boy's head up into his lap to have better access to the throat. As he touched the back of Fred's skull, his fingers swept over an uneven patch. He paused and stretched his neck to get a closer look at it.

There was a deep dent in Fred's skull, too deep for anyone to have lived.

Harry started laughing.

_By a hair's breadth._

He slumped back against a wall**,** crying, coughing and laughing all at once. He remained there for quite some time, staring into the flames until they subsided, leaving nothing behind but burnt charcoal.

.

.

* * *

This chapter wouldn't be what it is if not for the help of some very kind people.

Thanks so much to **slashbutterfly** who had a lot of work with this chapter – without her, this would be a complete mess. You're awesome!

Thanks **kmfrank** for a bit of canon nitpicking.

Thank you, **Paimon**, for helping via DLP IRC.

And, of course – thank you, dear reader, for reading this! I'd love to hear what you think will happen or how you liked the chapter/ the story so far.

I have yet to finish outlining the next chapter, so it might be a while before I post something – 'a while' as in 'more than a week'.


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